


American Sun

by lepetitfromage



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, angsty Alfred, denny's at 2am au, feelings and shenanigans, he's not angsty for long, road trip au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lepetitfromage/pseuds/lepetitfromage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is on holiday in the states and decides to make the most of it with a cross-country road trip. When he stops by a diner at 2am he expects a quick meal to keep him on his way, not to be confronted by a man who insists on accompanying him on his trip. Arthur isn't sure what to make of Alfred - he's paradoxical, and there's more to him than who he meets at the diner. But as they make the trip together, Arthur finds himself more and more intrigued by him, and the vast country skies don't seem so boring anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. East to West

Arthur’s stomach and lack of shame brought him into the Denny’s outside of Williamsburg, Virginia. It was his first Denny’s in America and nothing too special judging by the decades-old façade. He’d arrived in New York City a week prior, rented an old Chevy – some things just needed to be done in his mind, no matter how much he cursed at the dusty old thing under his breath– and was slowly making his way down the East coast.

It was also his first time in America. His friend, Francis, had questioned why he wanted to take a road trip in an old car through the states. Arthur was twenty-eight. He’d done Germany, Switzerland, and Austria after graduation, been to France countless times dragged along by Francis, and even been to India and Australia. He had all of Europe under his belt as well as a good portion of the East. He figured at some point he’d make a trip to the colonies.

And now he was here, at a Denny’s restaurant, at two in the morning no less. It wasn’t exactly his plan to come to Denny’s at two in the morning, but driving on the desolate, dark highways was getting boring and he realized he hadn’t eaten since a convenience store stop in D.C.

It was early June, and while the days were warm, the nights were permeated with a woodsy chill. He stuck his hands in his jacket and pushed open the Denny’s door with his arm. The scene was like any twenty-four hour establishment at 2 am; sparsely populated, deadly quiet, and smelling of coffee and old cigarette smoke. Arthur decided it wasn’t that bad, as far as late night eateries went.

He took a seat at the counter and absently read through the laminated drink menu. There were two elderly men in a booth near the back by the windows, and another man sitting at the bar, ten seats away. The man was talking quietly with the waiter. They seemed friendly.

Upon taking his seat, the waiter had noticed him and wrapped up whatever he was saying to the man before coming over to him.

“Good morning, sir,” he said politely, for it being two in the morning. “What can I get you?”

“Tea for now, please,” he said. “Black.”

The corner of his lips quirked up before he nodded and turned to the hot water dispenser.

He poured him a cup, added the teabag, and asked, “Visiting?”

Arthur glanced up at him. He looked honestly curious. He let himself smile a little. “Yes.”

“We don’t get many foreign tourists down this way,” he elaborated. “You’re really off the main highway. And I can’t think of many English living around here either.”

Arthur nodded. “I’m taking a… road trip of sorts.”

He – Matthew, his nametag read – nodded like he understood. “Just call if you want something to eat.”

He returned to where the other man sat and as Arthur watched him, he realized the man had been watching them talk, his chin in his hand, head tilted back as if critically appraising him. Needless to say, there wasn’t anything he could call pleasant in the man’s glare. When he returned to speaking with the waiter, he shifted himself forward as if telling him a secret. Arthur caught him flicking his gaze to him every once in a while during their conversation.

After a couple more minutes, Arthur realized he was staring and huffed, reverting his gaze to his mediocre tea. He simply chalked it up to the man’s odd behavior – and an intriguing character. The man had tanned, sun-soaked skin. His hair was streaked trophy gold and brassy, brushing his cheekbone. He had on what looked to be a well-worn brown bomber jacket, dark, worn jeans, and combat boots of a similar state. He looked no older than himself.

Arthur pushed a hand through his own shaggy hair and consulted the menu for something to eat. Matthew came back for his order and when he left to give it to the kitchen, Arthur heard the stool next to him creak. He looked up, surprised to find the man sitting next to him, facing him, one arm on the counter and the other resting in his lap.

“Hello,” Arthur greeted slowly, a little confusedly and only slightly annoyed, while instinctually leaning away from him.

“Hi,” he said in a serious voice.

A beat of silence and Arthur looked down at the menu again.

“What brings you here?” the man said.

Arthur blinked at him, at unreadable eyes. His brow furrowed. “I’d say nothing but crisps and coke since D.C. rush hour.”

“Funny,” the man said, raising his eyebrow. “I meant what are you doing in Williamsburg. Virginia. The U.S.”

“Road trip of sorts,” he replied. The man continued to stare at him with a look that wasn’t entirely hostile but evidently wasn’t friendly. “I’m sorry, but have I offended you?”

Matthew returned with Arthur’s hot plate of food. He slid it in front of him and laughed. “Don’t take it personally. He’s really a kid at heart.”

The man didn’t comment on his words. In fact his eyes never left Arthur’s.

Arthur flicked unsure and unamused eyes at Matthew. He laughed again and said, “Don’t worry about Alfred. He does this to everybody around this time.”

His words implied he came to this Denny’s at two in the morning a lot. The man, Alfred, apparently, started at what he said.

“Stop giving my name out to strangers,” he said, but there was no malice in it.

“Only when you stop chatting up every lone ranger that walks in.” Matthew grinned triumphantly but Alfred’s expression remained unchanged. The guy sure was a piece of work. “I’ll leave you then,” he said and disappeared into the back.

Another beat of silence passed.

“Arthur Kirkland,” he offered, seeing as he’d come to know the other man’s name. He held out a hand but Alfred glanced over it as if he didn’t know what to do with it. Arthur retracted his hand. “So,” he continued somewhat awkwardly. “Is he your friend?”

“Matt?” Alfred replied, at last. “You could say that. He’s my brother.”

Arthur thought that was interesting. Now that he thought about it, there were some similarities. Matthew was certainly fairer than his brother, and a lot friendlier. He was also beginning to feel like a sample on a lab slide under his gaze, and it was running through his patience.

“Why are you talking to me?” he questioned.

“Because I like chatting people up at 2am. You’re not from around here, got a fancy accent, and I find you amusing.”

“Amusing,” Arthur grumbled.

Arthur was saved from further tedium by the front door of the Denny’s bashing open and a man swaggering in shouting, “Matt!”

He had a wide grin on his pale face and fair hair that reflected the awful fluorescence. He spotted Alfred and cut over to the two of them.

“Hey, Alfie,” he greeted, ignoring Alfred’s dangerous brow furrow. “Matt’s here right? Who’s your friend?” He jabbed a thumb in Arthur’s direction.

“Yes, he’s here. And ask him.”

“Who are you?” he asked Arthur without missing a beat.

“Um, Arthur.”

“Ooh, a Brit,” he said, taking a fry from his plate and munching on the end. “Prime choice tonight, Al.”

Perhaps not so much of a lab slide than meat in a butcher’s window.

“I’m Gilbert,” he said. “How long have you been friendly with Goldilocks here?”

Arthur busied himself by drinking lukewarm tea. Luckily, he was saved once again.

Matthew came out from the back and smiled upon seeing his friend. “Hey, how long have you been in town?”

“Just got in. Stayed at the apartment a couple days, visited Roddy yesterday, and drove down a few hours ago.”

He paused and evaluated the scene in front of him. Two silent men and his friend refilling Arthur’s mug with hot water and a new teabag.

“You know, I’ve never seen it this lively in here, Matt.”

“It’s a lively one alright. Alfred’s taking public harassment up a notch.”

“Would you stop talking like I’m not here?” Alfred interjected.

“Hey, everyone’s got a hobby,” Gilbert said, shrugging. “Besides, you might as well not be. You’ve had a stick up your ass for–”

“Shut the fuck up, Gil.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, seeming to understand him, but he said nothing. “Fine,” he finally said. “Matt, I’ve got an update on your car. Why don’t we,” he paused, looking over the dour scene, “go somewhere else and talk.”

Matt shook his head, good-naturedly. Arthur suspected that Matt and Alfred had dealt with their rather forward friend for a long time, judging by the way nothing he said fazed them. “Arthur, if you need more tea or anything Alfred can get it for you.”

“Thanks,” he managed before Matthew’s friend stole him away.

Arthur took the chance to give Alfred another once over. Now that the man was next to him, he saw the details. Balanced on his nose were thick-framed glasses. He looked rather intellectual when one didn’t take into account his clothes, streaked with what looked like grease or motor oil. His eyes were a dull and flat blue in the less than flattering diner light, still pointedly glaring at him, for reasons Arthur couldn’t fathom.

For the sake of not ending up a victim of an axe-murderer, Arthur hoped he was as harmless as his brother seemed to endorse.

“So,” Arthur started again. “Public harassment is a hobby now? I thought it was a crime.”

“Depends on how you execute it,” Alfred said, snagging a fry off his plate. Arthur could say a few words on his “execution.”

“At two in the morning?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing going on.”

“Do you, ah, visit here often?”

“Only when Matt’s working. It’s almost empty here most nights.”

“How nice,” Arthur mumbled.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“London.”

“Of course.”

Arthur gave him a sidelong look. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Want to?”

“Nope.”

“Shame.”

“I’ve got all I need here.”

Arthur studied him for a moment. “Do you now. What about what you want?”

Arthur didn’t really know why he was actively making conversation with this stranger. But Alfred hesitated, his gaze never leaving Arthur’s. “My wants and needs are the same.”

Somehow, Arthur doubted that but he nodded anyway. Attention back down to his plate, he mopped up the last of the ketchup with a small bunch of fries. He then withdrew some cash from his wallet – more than enough for the bill and a tip – and shoved it back in his back pocket. “Tell him to keep the change,” he told Alfred, shifting off the stool and making to leave.

He was hesitating. He didn’t know why. He fumbled a bit with his phone, checking his pockets to make sure the few things he had on him were still with him. What was he waiting for? For the man to say something? He hadn’t been too talkative so far. Why should he care about a stranger?

“I’m leaving now.” _How idiotic_.

“So you are,” Alfred replied coolly.

That settled it then. With a friendly nod, Arthur walked out of the Denny’s, his shoes crunching gravel. He jangled his keys from his jacket pocket and that was when he heard the diner door shut behind him. Booted footsteps crunched the gravel, coming closer.

“Hey, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He turned on his heel and saw the unchanged stoicism of Alfred. “Yes?”

He kicked briefly at the dirt and asked, “Where are you headed?”

Arthur examined him before speaking. The man sure was hard to read. “California. I wasn’t initially going to do a cross-country thing, but I’ve got the car for two more weeks so I figured – why not?”

Alfred looked as if he wanted to say something, considering his words. Arthur waited. When he thought he wouldn’t reply, Arthur made to turn back to the truck.

“Let me come with you.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks and shifted a semi-shocked but mostly confused gaze to him.

The first thing out of his mouth wasn’t a flat out “no” or “you must be mad” but, “I don’t even know you.”

Alfred lifted his shoulders and dropped them, tiredly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted on his feet, looking out to the dark trees around them. Finally, he said, “I like talking to strangers, my friends are my brother’s friends, and I’ve played all kinds of sports since I was five.” Alfred leveled his gaze with Arthur’s, eyes black in the darkness, and almost expectant.

“You don’t even know me,” were Arthur’s next words, after taking in what he told him.

Alfred shrugged once more. “I guess that’s for me to find out.”

Arthur held his gaze. “And what if you decide to jump ship in the middle of Kansas?”

“I’ll take a Greyhound back.”

Arthur didn’t let strangers hitch rides with him. He never even went on road trips as spontaneously as this. Everything in Arthur’s brain told him to shrug Alfred off with his usual exasperation and be on his merry way. But he ended up saying, “Okay.”

Arthur thought he saw the tiniest smile flicker over Alfred’s face. Perhaps it was a trick of the streetlight. Alfred pulled open the passenger door of the truck parked right next to Arthur’s Chevy. Arthur looked on mildly perplexed.

From the cab of the truck into the bed of Arthur’s, he swung a rolled up sleeping bag and a couple blankets. He tossed them into the truck bed without a change in expression, without a word.

“You assumed I’d say yes,” Arthur said.

Alfred gave a characteristic shrug. “I didn’t assume, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Is this what you do? Chat up strangers in diners and ask to tag along with them?”

Alfred took his hands out of his pockets and stepped toward him. Arthur almost took an instinctive step back. Almost. Alfred was taller than Arthur; he had to look up an inch or two at him. Closer and more removed from the light, his face was more deeply shadowed.

“I don’t make a habit of it, no,” Alfred said conversationally. “But luckily for you, you came by at the right time and I need to clear my head. Plus,” he added, a little mischief gleaming in his eye, “I don’t know if I trust you to make it on the wrong side of the road. You might need my help.”

Arthur jumped at the bait, only realizing it after a quick defense of his ego. “I drive on _both_ sides of the road just fine, thank you.”

“Prove it, Captain,” Alfred said and opened the truck door, sliding in with nonchalance, as if they hadn’t just met each other an hour earlier.

But the words stilled in Arthur’s mind. Now _this_ time, he could have sworn he saw the corner of the man’s lips lift. It was a half-smile, but it was something.

Arthur gathered himself and sat down in the driver’s seat. He delayed switching on the ignition. Instead, he looked over at Alfred, who was calmly watching the dimly lit road next to the parking lot.

Alfred finally looked over. “What?”

“What about your truck?”

“I left the keys on the counter inside. Matt will take it. His is out of commission anyway.”

Arthur shook his head and expelled a breath. “Are you sure you can just up and leave for an undetermined amount of time?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I had something important to do. Now drive. I’m going to sleep. Wake me up if you find you can’t handle the right side.” With that, he slumped in the seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned his head against the window.

Arthur huffed, about to give another rebuttal, but put all the festering energy into jamming the key into the ignition and letting the rumble of the truck mellow him out.

 

Why did he let this strange man come with him?

What on _Earth_ possessed him to agree?

Did he have enough time to change his mind, turn around, and dump this guy back at the diner?

No. They were already in North Carolina. And Alfred was complaining about being hungry.

Alfred’s nap was a short one, but when he woke he didn’t speak much to Arthur. Arthur figured he’d at least strike up a casual conversation with his new companion. It looked like his expectations were set too high.

They were driving through a little town outside Greensboro, it was nearing 7am, and Arthur stopped in front of a small restaurant serving early breakfast. The two men silently made their way inside and sat. The first thing Alfred did was order coffee from the waitress and when she left, they proceeded to stare at each other. Warily, on Arthur’s part, and appraisingly on Alfred’s.

“So,” Arthur cleared his throat and began.

“So,” Alfred repeated.

The waitress returned with the coffee and Arthur waited awkwardly for her to take their orders and leave. When she did, he asked, “So what is it that you do that lets you take impromptu holidays?” It was the first step on their get-to-know-you adventure.

Alfred seemed to think of his answer before saying, “I’m a mechanic. I make custom motorcycles. Just finished a bike yesterday night, actually.”

Arthur’s interested was piqued. He wouldn’t necessarily have pegged the man with sunny blond hair and glasses in front of him as a mechanic. Though it did explain the grease on his shirt. “What kind of bike?”

Alfred leaned back in the booth, his eyebrow arching. “A custom Harley. Do you know motorcycles?” he asked.

“I know a bit,” Arthur replied, challenging the disbelief in Alfred’s eyes. “I’ve ridden my fair share.”

Slowly, a smile wormed its way onto Alfred’s face, and Arthur said, “What?”

With mild amusement in his eyes and his smile hidden behind the lip of his mug, Alfred said, “Didn’t take you for a rider is all.”

Arthur slanted him a look and busied himself with his food that had come while Alfred was talking. Despite his brash attitude, Arthur suddenly wished he could have seen Alfred’s work. He didn’t know why he thought this. It was insignificant.

The corner of Alfred’s lips flicked up into a half smile. “What about yourself? You on sabbatical or something?”

“No,” Arthur said, slightly jarred by the shift of attention to himself. “I work for the British Embassy.”

Alfred’s brows lifted. “Top secret government stuff?”

Arthur smirked down at his plate. “Not really. I move around the European embassies as needed. The last one I was at was Dublin. I’m on holiday right now. When I go back I’ll either be in Amsterdam or Brussels.”

Alfred watched him for a while, but then all he said was, “Wow,” with a smile and a shake of the head. After another moment he said, “You’ve never been at the American Embassy?”

“Amazingly enough, no. This is my first time in the US.”

Another quieter, “Wow.”

Since it seemed like Alfred didn’t have anything else to say, Arthur nodded and returned to eating. He was secretly pleased at the progress he and Alfred had made. It made Arthur feel more at ease with agreeing to spend his vacation with a stranger. With one civil conversation Arthur could see a more relaxed countenance to Alfred. The apathetic annoyance in his eyes was now replaced by a lighter mirth. Perhaps it was still a slightly condescending mirth, but lightness nonetheless.

“What?” Alfred suddenly asked.

A jolt of embarrassment made Arthur swing his gaze from where he was staring at Alfred’s face to his plate. “Nothing,” he said, and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.

 

After breakfast, Alfred asked to stop at the local supermarket for some necessities. Arthur followed him with his arms crossed over his chest as Alfred scanned the wall of boxer briefs – guess that answered that question – and took an unnecessarily long time deliberating between toothbrushes – Arthur began to think he was doing it on purpose.

Back in the truck, Alfred let out a contented sigh from the passenger seat and stretched, linking his hands behind his head.

“Well?” he prompted. “Let’s go.”

Arthur just looked at him. With another suffering sigh he said, “Are you going to fall asleep again?”

Alfred shrugged. “Maybe. It’s pretty warm today. If you need me to take over, just tell me.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Arthur started the truck and maneuvered his way back to the main road.

They drove straight through to Nashville, only stopping for gas and a couple snacks. Over seven hours and Arthur was beginning to feel fatigue. It was late afternoon when he pulled up to a motel and trudged through check-in and hauled his duffel into the room.

Arthur was fighting to keep his eyes open and felt like he could collapse and sleep for a whole day. He barely paid attention to Alfred’s presence and almost didn’t hear him when he said he wanted to walk around town for a while. Alfred took a room key and left Arthur to blissful sleep.

Of the two double beds in the room, Arthur chose to fall less than gracefully on the bed closest to the window. He always preferred it. He stretched, sprawled, and was out in record time. Sleep was peacefully dreamless until his body woke him up and the first thing he saw when he cracked his eyes open was midnight black and streetlight yellow glowing through the sheer curtains. He rolled from his stomach to his back, arms flopping to the bed with a groan.

“Mornin’ Sunshine.”

The voice didn’t register right away in his brain. Arthur jolted upright and moaned once more when his head spun. When the world stopped spinning, he saw Alfred lounging on his bed, flipping through a magazine.

“Is it morning?” Arthur asked.

Alfred’s gaze slid amusedly over to Arthur. “Nope.”

Arthur collapsed back onto the pillow.

“It’s barely ten.”

Arthur groaned. He wanted to be unconscious at least until the next day. Alfred rolled off his bed and came over to whack Arthur with his magazine. “Hey!” He flinched with a belated attempt to shield himself from the attack.

“Hay is for horses. Now get up, we’re going out.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Well I don’t feel like bringing back food for you. Let’s go.”

Arthur grudgingly lifted himself off the bed and rubbed his face. “Where’re we going?”

“I saw this ‘bar and grill’ type place earlier. They’re open late.”

The prospect of a drink and a filling, greasy meal perked him up. Arthur fixed his cuffs and righted his twisted shirt, following Alfred into the city. He walked a half-step behind Alfred, letting him lead. The guy walked with such a casual nonchalance to the world around him, yet his strides were confident and owning. It made Arthur unconsciously straighten his back as he walked.

Alfred led him to the restaurant, which was exactly as he described it. More bar than restaurant, the place had that classic Nashville vibe, where Arthur felt like at any moment a local band would rouse the crowd into a lively country dance. Arthur cringed internally; he couldn’t help the stereotypes sometimes.

They sat at a little table between the filled booths and the bar. The friendly, accented waitress gave them menus. When the business was taken care of, and Arthur had a pint in his hand, a group of young men mounted the stage on the far wall and Arthur’s deeply buried inner tourist was pleased that his initial image of the bar was somewhat true.

The band introduced themselves to the crowd and began playing. Arthur didn’t recognize the style, but it sounded familiar.

“What are they playing?” Arthur asked while waiting for their food.

Alfred shifted his attention to the band. He shrugged. “Some kind of bluegrass rock.”

Arthur responded with a hum.

“Never heard of it?”

Arthur looked at him, and there it was again: that amusement sparking in his eyes. “Not really. Punk rock was more my scene.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows. “You? A punk?”

Arthur defensively asked, “What?”

There was that half-smile that appeared more like a smirk. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for that kind of thing, is all.”

“Because I work for the government?”

Arthur swallowed when Alfred’s gaze raked him up and down. “That,” he said slowly, “and you’re so straight-laced.”

Rather than deny it, Arthur simply mimicked Alfred’s laid back posture and said, “Am I?”

The corner of his lips flicked up again. “Okay. There might be something in there.”

“Not that you’ll ever know.” Arthur returned the smirk.

They ended up staying and enjoying the entertainment, as well as making light jabs at each other that might have been more get-to-know-you conversation. It was just after midnight when they left the bar; customers had begun leaving, and it was a weeknight.

Arthur was a little surprised that he felt tired again. A long nap would have kept him up well into the early morning, but perhaps it was the combination of a filling meal, rowdy background noise, and oddly talkative company that wiped him out once more. In their room, both collapsed on their respective beds and ‘goodnights’ took the form of deeply contended sighs.

 

In eastern Oklahoma, the clear night sky stretched overhead and Arthur marveled at the stars as he drove. Alfred was dozing, his head leaning against the window.

Arkansas hadn’t been very interesting, so Arthur had kept driving. He was feeling a little bit of cabin fever now. Luckily for his boredom, he’d been seeing signs for turn offs to a… lake? Spring? He didn’t know what to call it, but the signs had called it Plaincliff Falls. Arthur didn’t care that it was just after midnight.

The road to the falls narrowed as it turned to dirt. There seemed to be a lot of these springs in the area, and Arthur figured he’d picked one of the smaller ones. A small clearing, which he guessed served as parking, came into view.

Alfred woke and straightened when Arthur cut the ignition. “Where are we?” he asked.

Arthur smiled. “It’s called Plaincliff Falls. Some kind of spring, or waterhole.”

Alfred gave him a slanted look. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“And I’m bored. Come on, let’s check it out.”

Arthur exited the truck. The night was pleasantly warm, not too cool but it beat the midday heat waves. There was a clunky groan from Alfred’s side as he hauled himself out of the truck.

“I was sleeping,” he complained.

“You can sleep later. This looks fun.” Arthur came over to his side and waited impatiently. “Come on.”

“Didn’t think fun was in your vocabulary,” Alfred mumbled.

Arthur ignored him as he led the way to the natural path downhill.

He was quite amused by the groans and low curses from Alfred as he whacked away leaves and twigs in front of him.

Arthur could hear the sound of tumbling water and when the trees let up his eyes widened.

The spring was small, about the size of an average swimming pool. Natural earth walls enclosed it, with rocks climbing the sides and ringing the perimeter. The water was inky black in the darkness, reflecting the smallest bit of moonlight. The sound of splashing water came from a two-story high waterfall.

Arthur heard a rustling of fabric and watched in mild confusion as Alfred stripped until he was clad only in his underwear.

“Alfred, what-”

He threw a grin back at Arthur before launching himself into the water. He came up with a shout. “It’s cold!”

Alfred smoothed his hair back while he treaded, laughing at the slight concern that was still on Arthur’s face.

“Yeah, idiot, it’s the middle of the night,” he grumbled.

Alfred swam closer and feigned grabbing at his legs. “Get your ass in here before I drag you in.”

Arthur jumped away from Alfred’s hands and kicked at the stone. “Like hell I am.”

“You sure know how to enjoy a vacation. Here,” Alfred pushed away from the edge to offer him some peace, “I _dare_ you to jump from the top of the waterfall.”

Arthur slanted a condescending look toward him. “You dare me? What are we fifteen?”

Alfred simply grinned. “I dare you.”

They locked gazes for a minute until Arthur breathed out a curse. “Fine,” he conceded.

Alfred pumped his fists in the water and watched Arthur whip his shirt over his head. Still in his jeans and shoes, Arthur took to the rock wall. It seemed like hand and foot holds had been dug out by previous climbers, as Arthur didn’t have much problem climbing to the top – a good thing too since Arthur wasn’t exactly boasting the kind of muscle mass Alfred was. He mumbled under his breath while he listened to the splashing below him. Arthur dropped trou, standing at the edge of the cliff in only his boxers, and on a count threw himself over the edge.

Arthur hit the water, the thrill and rush making joy bubble out of him, but when he resurfaced, Alfred was nowhere in sight. Nuggets of concern replaced the joy.

Did Alfred have trouble? Had he drowned? Was he lying unconscious at the bottom?

Arthur swam out to where Alfred had been in the water. “Alfred?” he called loud enough to be heard underwater. “Alfred?”

It was night. The water was pitch black. Arthur couldn’t see a thing.

Then, two hands planted onto his shoulders from behind and dunked him underwater. Arthur emerged spluttering with his hair plastered over his eyes. He pushed it away to find Alfred with a satisfied smirk in front of him.

So ignited a splash war; playful insults lobbed between them as much as waves did. Their game lasted until Arthur lifted himself out of the pool. He sat on a rock, leaning back on his hands, while Alfred floated on his back below.

Arthur simply watched him. Alfred had his eyes closed, but his lips were relaxed into an easy smile. It was interesting, and relieving, to Arthur to see his face when it wasn’t pulled tight in calculated disinterest or a condescending smirk. He looked innocent in a way, friendlier and that was the word that took Arthur a little by surprise as it entered his thoughts. He was a _friend_. He hadn’t known Alfred more than a couple days now, but considering his commitment to joining Arthur, he figured he could call him a friend – if in the most casual sense.

“Hey, Alfred,” he called, just loud enough for him to hear.

Alfred didn’t stir but answered, “Yeah?”

“What would you have done if I didn’t come by, or if you didn’t impose yourself on me?”

Alfred laughed. “Impose, you say.” His eyes opened, taking in the night sky. He sculled the water, not saying anything right away. Arthur crossed his legs and propped his elbows on his knees, waiting. “Probably would have gone back to the shop,” he finally said. “Probably would have tried doing _something_ – drafting plans, sketching, whatever.”

“You don’t sound thrilled.”

“Mm. I’ve got a list of clients, so there’s always something to do.”

“What do you do when you’re not working?”

Alfred laughed again and moved over to Arthur’s rock. He hoisted himself out of the water and sat at the edge next to Arthur. “Not much these days. I’m boring. This is the most excitement I’ve had in months.”

Arthur examined his profile, chin in his hand. Arthur only knew Alfred a couple days but he could say with minimal doubts that he was one of the more interesting people Arthur has ever met. Who invites themself on a stranger’s vacation anyway?

Water droplets trickled down Alfred’s face. Arthur watched him fiddle with his hair, shaking it out and running his hands through it. In Arthur’s honest opinion, Alfred had a beautiful face – high cheekbones, a full mouth, a friendly brow. He suspected Alfred wouldn’t want to hear the latter. For some reason, he tried to appear so aloof but this was the real Alfred; a bright, almost boyish gaze directed to the vast expanse of stars.

Arthur was fully aware of and acknowledged his growing interest in the man. Alfred had finally relaxed that night. Arthur had wondered when he would see past the stoic exterior he’d been holding up, and with the full moon overhead and Alfred’s face tilted toward it Arthur couldn’t have expected a better moment for it.

 

 _New Mexico_ – After they slept overnight at the pool, they took another day to get to Albuquerque. However tranquil they had been at the pool, Alfred’s new demeanor was something Arthur wasn’t quite sure about in regards to how they would progress.

Things were a little quiet throughout the rest of Oklahoma, but there was a more definite ease. Alfred’s mood was progressively better and Arthur didn’t have to feel like he was walking on eggshells. Alfred bought breakfast, Arthur bought lunch, and they continued in an effortless flow, more and more used to the rhythm of each other.

Arthur was blissfully unaware of it. Until they reached Albuquerque.

Among many of the things Arthur hadn’t been aware of, the sun was one of them. He realized he was quite literally burning. Luckily he wasn’t at the status of lobster yet, but once they were in the city they stopped at a drugstore.

Arthur sighed when they entered into blessed air conditioning.

“Wow, you really are red,” Alfred snickered behind his hand at the sight of Arthur’s arms and face.

“I am not.” Arthur’s brow scrunched. He waved a hand at Alfred, who seemed to have reaped all the benefits of the sun without the unfortunate downsides.

Arthur huffed and muttered curses to all tan people while they searched for the aisle with aloe vera and sunscreen. He’d taken a hand basket and felt weight drop into it while examining sunscreen. Arthur glanced down and saw multiple candy bars. He lifted his eyes to level with Alfred’s. If Arthur weren’t so off-put by his burning skin, he would have thought that Alfred’s face looked perfectly endearing. Like a slightly less than innocent child.

“What?” he said when Arthur flashed him a look, “I’m buying them.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and threw a bottle of sunscreen into the basket.

“Come on, don’t be-” Alfred had placed his hands on Arthur’s arms and Arthur jumped away in pain. “Sorry!” he said through poorly stifled laughter.

Arthur smacked him on the arm, which only made Alfred laugh more. “I’m done, let’s go find lunch.”

Alfred followed him to the checkout counter. “Here,” he said, handing Arthur a twenty, “I’m taking pity on you so I’ll pay for your delicate skin needs.”

Alfred skirted Arthur’s attempt to smack him again and Arthur could hear him snickering all the way out the door.

Arthur was mumbling to himself about insufferable twats and why he decided to spend all his time with him anyway when he heard the cashier girl let out a small laugh.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he started, but the girl waved it away.

“No worries,” she said, ringing up his things. “How long have you been together?”

Rather uncomforted by first-degree burn, Arthur failed to catch her meaning. “A few days,” he grumbled. “But it already feels like weeks.”

The girl smiled. “That’s a good sign. It means you’re a good match.”

Arthur perked his head up, a bit confused by her wording. “Hmm?”

Instead of elaborating, she proceeded to give him the total and accept his money.

Arthur walked out of the store in a slight daze, still mulling over the girl’s words. Alfred was waiting by the truck.

“There you are,” he said, and then noticed Arthur thinking. “What is it?”

Gradually, it started to fall into place. Arthur’s cheeks warmed when his eyes met Alfred’s but he’d swear it was from the ghastly heat. “I think that girl thought we were together.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Well with you hounding me like an old wife, anyone would.”

Arthur succeeded in smacking him this time but as he sat in the open doorway of the truck applying aloe vera, Alfred lounging across the seat next to him, he wondered if they really reached that point. Arthur considered himself plenty comfortable with Alfred at this point. Did Alfred feel the same? Certainly not in a couple sense, but as friends. It made Arthur smile.

 

 _Arizona_ \- The trip went a little easier after Albuquerque now that Arthur wasn’t bothered so much by sunburn. The incredible heat made it impossible to put forth more effort than was necessary though.

They had the A/C blasting in the truck yet they still lay listless in their seats. Alfred had been shirtless for a couple hours now. Currently, they were parked at a rest stop in the shade.

“Your bloody country can go to hell,” Arthur said.

“In this heat, we’re already there,” Alfred responded with similar energy. “Where are we?”

“Um, close to Flagstaff I think?” Arthur turned his head and looked at him.

Alfred continued to lay back, eyes closed, one arm dangling out the window. Arthur watched the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I think I have distant relatives out here.”

“Really?” Arthur asked.

Alfred shrugged and leaned forward, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with his discarded shirt. “Doesn’t matter to me. I highly doubt they remember my mom, let alone know Matt and I exist, anyway.”

Arthur’s gaze travelled over the curve of his back and back up to his face when a strand of sun-bleached hair fell over his forehead. Arthur suppressed the sudden urge to tuck it back into place behind his ear with a light flush.

“I’ll get us water,” Arthur said and exited the truck. He walked to the vending machine in a mild mental turmoil.

He found that he didn’t mind Alfred’s pokes and punches anymore. What was more, he wanted to touch _him_ now.

 

 _California_ – It was seven in the evening and the Pacific Ocean stretched out ahead of them for thousands of miles. They were parked in the gravel lot a couple hundred feet from the water’s edge, sat in semi-awed silence. Arthur swallowed and turned his head toward Alfred. His eyes were wide and his lips parted slightly.

Arthur was about to say something, anything, but Alfred abruptly opened the door and he was getting out. In hurried motions, he stepped out of his boots, stored his socks inside them, and rolled up his jeans to the knee. Eyes on the water the entire time, he lifted his t-shirt over his head and tossed it on the passenger seat before walking toward the water.

Arthur exited the truck and followed him curiously. It was like the man tuned everything out except the ocean. He followed Alfred up to where the water ebbed and flowed gently onto the drying sand. Alfred went farther. He waded through the water, eyes on the horizon, until the water lapped at his shins. He stopped and time seemed to stop around him. The only thing Arthur was aware of was his quiet breathing.

It was a sort of majesty, Arthur supposed. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a soft setting glow that haloed Alfred. An ocean breeze picked up his hair and Arthur felt that same sudden urge, a need to run his fingers through it.

In combination with his body, feet apart, arms hanging loosely by his sides, his tanned skin shadowed even further by the waning light, he looked…

He was stunning. Arthur swallowed again, but didn’t have time to do an internal check of his outward expression because Alfred turned his head and met his gaze. And he was grinning. Ear to ear.

“Get out here,” he said.

Without thinking, Arthur pulled off his shoes, socks, and rolled up his jeans. He waded out until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Alfred. They let the sounds of the ocean breeze whistle around them.

Alfred broke their silence. “I’ve never been to the Pacific.”

Arthur watched him continue to gaze out at the horizon. “And now you are.”

A softer smile lifted the corners of his lips this time. “I am. We are.”

Arthur turned back to the view too. The golden orange light was beautiful and he couldn’t imagine an instance where making this decision would have been passed up.

Then, fingers intertwined with his and a warm palm pressed to his. Arthur looked down as his heart slammed, unprepared, into his ribs. His gaze swung up to Alfred’s cool eyes and light smile.

He was about to question when Alfred swung them bodily around and yanked Arthur down with him into the water. They fell less than gracefully into the water, side by side. Between water sloshing in his ears, Arthur could hear Alfred laughing. It wasn’t a giggle or a condescending chuckle this time but eye-crinkling, stomach-clutching laughter. He still had Arthur’s hand securely in his.

Arthur spluttered salt water from his mouth and pushed away wet hair from his forehead.

Alfred was still snickering behind his hand and Arthur was about to spew curses at him, but in a last minute decision, he swiped a wave of water at him instead. Alfred blocked it with his forearm. He let go of Arthur’s hand to get to his feet and Arthur could see him prepping for a war, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Arthur scrambled to his feet and just managed to evade a splash sent his way. He rounded on Alfred, taking in his stringy, wet hair and jeans that now clung tightly to his hips and legs, and formulated his own attack strategy.

Their war didn’t last long, and ended with Arthur running up the shore and Alfred shouting, “Cheater!” after him.

“It’s not cheating, it’s regrouping!” Arthur threw back.

Alfred laughed and Arthur shuffled in the sand, his breath short, as he helplessly tugged at his wet shirt. He gave the horizon a brief look of disdain. The sun was too low to dry his clothes. The best he could do was peel his shirt off, wring it out, and dry himself with a blanket from the back of the truck. Alfred stooped to wash excess sand from his arms before trudging back up the shore and meeting Arthur at the truck.

Arthur wordlessly tossed the blanket at him and slipped into his zip-up jacket. It was warm enough, even at sunset, to go without but Arthur was more comfortable with it.

Alfred seemed to have no qualms about remaining shirtless. He waited for Arthur to finish and kept expectant eyes on him.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“What are we doing next?”

Arthur looked back to the water, shimmering with the last rays of sun. He really didn’t feel like leaving the beach. He reached into the cab of the truck and withdrew a soccer ball he’d bought at a sports store a couple cities back. “I’m really glad I bought this.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. Arthur grinned.

“You ever play?” he asked, casually juggling the ball with his knees.

“Soccer? A little.”

“Excuse you, it’s football.”

Alfred smirked. “Not over here it isn’t.”

“That’s right,” Arthur scoffed. “You ingrates defile the good name with that brutish thing you call a sport.”

Alfred laughed. “Your angry Brit is showing, Arthur.”

“We Brits are always angry,” he drawled. “About important things.” Arthur stopped and caught the ball. He began walking back toward the sand. “Now come on, I’m going to teach you some _football_ ,” he said, emphasizing the word.

He didn’t look back, but was aware of Alfred following him from the sound of shifting sand.

They spaced themselves apart and Arthur dropped the ball to the sand. “Now, kick with the inside of your foot.”

“I know how to kick a ball, Captain,” he said with an eye-roll.

“Alright. Just want to make sure you don’t stub a toe.”

Alfred smirked and Arthur took a little time to show off with some fancy footwork before kicking the ball toward him. He nodded at his catch and smiled when Alfred gave him a nice return.

They kept up simple passes back and forth for a while, words unneeded. Then Arthur mixed it up a bit and kicked the ball to Alfred’s right. Alfred caught on and they gradually increased the difficulty.

“So,” Arthur began, feinting to the left to catch his serve. “If you didn’t play much football, what did you do?”

Alfred hummed. “I played most every other sport.”

“I remember you saying that,” Arthur said.

Alfred chuckled, catching the high arc of the ball to his chest and kicking it back. “I even tried hockey. That’s Matt’s sport. We used to spend parts of the year in Quebec, and Matt took to ice like a duck takes to water.”

Arthur continued to volley back and forth with him, going on autopilot while he listened to Alfred speak. He wasn’t sure how aware Alfred was of him watching his face. As he told the story, his eyes were trained on the ball with the spark of recalling a memory.

“Matt’s not very outwardly aggressive, but don’t test him in hockey. It wasn’t really my thing though.” He smiled with the memory. “I played football in high school. I also did a couple years of baseball, a little basketball. But then…”

Alfred paused his story, keeping his feet moving and for a while the only sound between them was the sound of the ball being passed back and forth.

Arthur chewed on his lip. “But then?” he encouraged.

“Our parents died when I was sixteen. Matt was fifteen,” he said, eyes still on the ball. “We went to live with our uncle in Virginia. Sports were hard to keep up with after that. Matt and I had to look out for each other.” He paused. “Matt’s been saving up to move to Montreal. He got back into hockey and he plays from time to time.”

“What about you?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know,” Alfred replied, a sad smile on his lips. “I used to know. I thought about following Mattie. Before Virginia, we lived close to New York City. Maybe I’ll go back there. I could still see him on occasion.”

Arthur let a few more beats of silence pass before he stopped the ball with his foot and kicked it up into his hands. “Come on,” he said, motioning to the truck with his head.

“What’s up?”

“It’s dark now, and I thought of something else.”

Alfred quirked an eyebrow, but followed him. At the truck, Arthur deposited the ball and handed Alfred the newspaper sitting on the seat. With his hand, he beckoned him to follow again as they made their way once more back to the sand.

That night they made a bonfire on the beach. They gathered some driftwood and made a little teepee with the logs. Alfred shoved balled up pieces of the newspaper under the structure. He lit it all around with a lighter and stood back next to Arthur to watch the whole thing go ablaze.

Though he was mostly dry, patches of his pants and shirt were still wet, so Arthur neared the fire, his hands extended to the warmth. Turning around to dry the seat of his pants, his gaze fell to Alfred sitting cross-legged on the sand, leaning back on his hands.

After a time, Arthur joined him on the sand.

Alfred chuckled. “You look like a proper California surfer.”

Arthur ran a hand through his dry, salty hair. He laughed too; wind-mussed blond hair, t-shirt, rolled up jeans, and bare feet did indeed lend to the image. On the other hand, though Alfred was dressed similarly in a plain t-shirt, rolled up jeans and bare feet, his sunny skin and floppy hair seemed to fit better. Arthur didn’t tell him that though. He decided to keep the image to himself.

Arthur didn’t realize he was staring until the intensity of Alfred’s darkened eyes meeting his startled him. He sincerely hoped he hadn’t been sitting there slack-jawed and was immensely glad for the fire, as he had no way of telling what was causing the heat on his cheeks – the fire or embarrassment.

They stayed until the flame died out. When the logs were nothing but crumbled cinders and the darkness of the night settled around them Alfred broached the subject.

“What do we do now?”

Arthur’s eyes were on the last flickering embers. “How much more time do you want to spend in California?”

“It’s your road trip.”

Arthur swung a flat look at him. “You’re not my dog. You have opinions.”

“Wow, thanks, Arthur,” Alfred said. He took another minute to think and continued. “If this is all I see of California, then I’d be alright with that.”

Arthur took a deep breath and nodded. He’d get some sleep before figuring out what to do next.

It was then, after he’d made his decision, that he felt a warmth brush his shoulder. His brain processed everything as it came; the warmth of a shoulder still heated from the fire against his, the rough fingertips that barely grazed his own on the sand. In the darkness he could only make out the shape of a face nearing his. And then Alfred’s lips were on his.

The kiss was short. There was enough time for a solid press of lips against lips, just enough time for it to fully register in Arthur’s brain and for his tensed jaw to soften, and then the pressure was gone.

He was acutely aware of that absence of pressure and found himself not wanting it to be over yet. But Alfred was watching him with soft eyes inches away from his face.

Arthur swallowed the remaining desire and said in a tone low enough for the space between them, “What was that?”

Initially, Arthur thought he was going to answer with something sarcastic or witty, like he’d been prone to doing this whole time. But Alfred left him speechless when he simply said, “A thank-you.”

The cogs in his brain were struggling to catch up and it wasn’t until he heard Alfred’s voice float along the breeze from ten feet away that he realized he’d gotten up and moved during his moment of mental blankness.

And then he realized Alfred was laughing at him. Arthur scrambled to his feet and worked his face up to look angry.

“No angry Brit this time. You look like a disgruntled kitten,” Alfred snickered.

So much for that.

From the beach back to the truck, they kept the mood light. In the car, driving down the boulevard in search of a beachside motel to crash at for the night, they kept up a casual banter. If Alfred wasn’t going to say or do anything more about what happened, then neither was Arthur. He’d just tuck away the thoughts of his fingers pinned under Alfred’s, their shoulders pressed together, and the fact that he’d wanted more. Now that he’d experienced that initial touch, and retrospectively recalled the faint saltiness he’d licked from his own lips afterward and was sure that was how Alfred’s lips would have tasted given the chance, he wanted to feel it again.

“Hey, what about that one?” Alfred’s voice jerked him out of his thoughts. The motel Alfred pointed to looked decent enough so Arthur pulled into it.

After much needed showers, they both collapsed onto their respective beds. Arthur closed his eyes, quite sure that he wasn’t going to open them again for the rest of the night.

“G’night, Arthur.”

His eyes opened lazily to look at Alfred. He laid on his back, an arm tossed across his eyes. He didn’t say anything else.

“Goodnight, Alfred.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had written this a long time ago, with different characters, but I still liked it so I modified it for Hetalia. Nevertheless, this piece is still very character-centric, and a good characterization exercise :)  
> Thanks for reading!


	2. West to East

After Alfred had kissed him, Arthur became aware of a lot of things. He became more aware of how much he actually watched Alfred, turning his eyes away before he could catch him. He noticed how Alfred seemed to smile more and his overall demeanor had relaxed from the stiff, stoic man he’d met at the diner. He was also now _very_ aware of the little physical things.

The next morning they slept in and though they did, Alfred still wasn’t alive without coffee. Arthur had more or less dragged him to the local Laundromat after they left the motel and had left to get them coffee. Reentering the Laundromat, he chuckled to himself upon seeing Alfred sitting on the bench, his head tilted back against the wall behind him. He looked rather dead.

Arthur sat next to him and jabbed him lightly with his elbow. Alfred’s head lolled to the side with a slight furrow to his brow.

“I got coffee,” was Arthur’s simple statement.

Like the dead awakened, Alfred’s eyes brightened and he eagerly took the cup, sipping from it contentedly.

Then he laid his head on Arthur’s shoulder and resumed his light doze.

Arthur stiffened immediately, but forced himself to relax. The last thing he wanted was Alfred calling him out on it – though going by his semi-conscious state, he didn’t think it’d be a problem.

Once he busied himself with twisting his paper cup around in his hands, he realized he didn’t mind it so much. In fact, he caught himself feeling slightly disappointed when the coffee finally kicked in and Alfred lifted his head away.

 

 _Nevada_ \- Alfred forced Arthur to pull into the parking lot of a non-descript liquor store. In a run-down, drive-thru town in the middle of Nevada at ten at night. Arthur would have questioned, but when Alfred had that glint in his eye it was best not to question and simply go with him.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” he said, sliding out of the truck with a scheming grin. Arthur was a little tired, and again, Alfred was on a mission, so he nodded and let him be.

He was in the store, hidden between the aisles, for ten minutes before Arthur watched him set more bottles than he was expecting down on the pay counter. The clerk’s bored expression never shifted.

With a paper bag cradled in each arm, Alfred returned, still smiling. Arthur now looked wary.

“What’s that?” he asked tentatively.

“Stuff,” was the short answer. Bottles of various size and volume clanked against each other when Alfred set down the bags between them. “Now get back on the road. I saw a sign for a service entrance gate a while back.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and did so without a word. In a short time they left the town limits and were once again surrounded by the flat expanse of Nevada desert, plateaus bordering the horizon.

“Where is the entrance?” Arthur asked in the quiet.

A quarter mile later, Alfred spotted the gate to the service road.

“Aren’t these things private?” Arthur questioned.

Alfred shot him a look. “Does it look like they patrol here at 11pm?” He hopped out of the truck once again and unlocked the pitiful gate for Arthur to drive through, then hopped neatly back into the truck.

“Alright, drive a ways up the road and then pull out a little onto the dirt.”

“Everything’s dirt,” Arthur grumbled exasperatedly. “And do you know what you’re doing exactly?”

“Nope. Just trust me. It’s going to be a good night.”

Arthur was a little worried now. Instead of calling it quits though, they climbed the dirt incline to what seemed to be the top of the plateau overlooking the highway they were just on. Arthur stopped the car and turned to Alfred expectantly.

“Now,” he began, answering Arthur’s silent question, “We drink.”

“You practically dragged me out here in the middle of nowhere so you could drink?”

“So _we_ could drink. And I don’t just mean drink – I mean _drink_.”

Alfred procured bottles of vodka, whiskey, and rum from the paper bags and Arthur’s jaw fell open.

“Are you expecting us to drink it all?”

Alfred shrugged and laughed. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want our corpses picked up by the police tomorrow morning.”

“Come on, Arthur. I thought you were English.”

That was enough for Arthur’s pride to rear its head and with a huff he followed Alfred around to the truck bed, watched as he pulled down the tailgate, sat on it, and cracked open the bottle of rum, promptly passing it to Arthur.

“I’m going to kill you tomorrow.”

“Can’t kill me if I’m already dead.” Alfred opened the vodka and took a swig, hissed and shook his head. He let out an enthusiastic shout and looked back to Arthur. “Now drink up, Artie. I refuse to be alone in this.”

 

They finished off the rum rather quickly and with the last swig of vodka and a bit of scotch, Arthur couldn’t give a damn about his earlier hesitations. Alfred was currently trying to run around him with the soccer ball balanced on his head.

More appropriately, Arthur was chasing him, drunkenly shouting to give it back before he sent the bloody thing over the edge of the cliff.

“You’re accent gets so heavy when you’re drunk, Arthur,” Alfred laughed and almost tripped over his own feet.

“Yeah? Well look at you, prancin’ ‘round like a bloody ballerina.”

“Then lift me!” Alfred shouted before launching himself at Arthur.

As one might have expected, Arthur let out an “oof!” and they toppled to the ground. If Arthur were sober, he would have been acutely aware of the situation and probably pushed Alfred off right away. But Arthur was far from sober and his drunken mind liked the feeling of his weight on top of him and his dazed gaze looking down at him. They were panting heavily for a while before Alfred pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand for Arthur. Arthur accepted and didn’t even mind that Alfred kept his hand in his grip. Though he did notice when Alfred dragged him to the edge of the cliff.

“If you fall and die I won’t get you,” he said.

Alfred snickered. “I won’t, I won’t. But I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“Do what?”

Alfred tilted his head back, took a deep breath, and yelled as loudly as he could muster, screaming into the empty night. Arthur calmly watched him yell with all the power he had in him. He managed a long while, finally stopping and catching his breath. Echoes of his shouting stretched over the barren land.

Arthur stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Alfred’s eyes were heavily lidded, as if the energy from shouting like that already exhausted him. He swayed a little on his feet and lurched forward into Arthur.

He was prepared to catch him, thinking he’d finally passed out, but Arthur’s hands landed on his arms and clenched the fabric of his shirt before Alfred grabbed his face and kissed him.

The kiss was a wet, sucking kiss, completely unlike the brief press of lips on the beach. It tasted of a cocktail of liquor and the heat of their breath fanned over his face, distinctly warmer against the light summer night chill.

It lasted longer than the beach kiss, and Arthur didn’t know it if was the kiss or the alcohol finally making his head spin. But Alfred let him go and promptly yelled into the vast expanse of Nevada, “I kissed Arthur!”

Arthur’s ears heated and he blinked a few times, watching Alfred pant again. On a surge of alcohol-induced courage, Arthur faced the world and yelled, “And I’m going to kill him!”

Alfred’s grin was voracious. “Oh man, I’m going to kiss you again.”

Mischief sparking in both their gazes, Arthur backed away as Alfred neared him. “No you’re not. You taste like a pub floor.”

“So did you, but I’m not complaining.”

They proceeded to pick up where the left off: chasing each other around the truck and taking turns from the remaining bottle of scotch.

It was, in fact, the scotch that finally did Arthur in. He lay weak in the truck bed, legs dangling over the edge of the tailgate. The most stunning view of the night sky spun overhead like a time-lapse video.

“You out already Arthur?” he heard a voice say.

“If I get up I’m going to fall over,” he said roughly, moaning in misery.

Alfred didn’t answer, but he heard grunting as he shakily hoisted himself into the truck bed and shuffled around behind him. Arthur turned his head as much as his dizzy brain would allow to watch Alfred fiddle with the sleeping bag. He unzipped it and opened it up, laying it down over the bed of the truck like a mattress. Alfred stood and shuffled behind Arthur and before Arthur could stutter out a command to drop him, Alfred had his hands under Arthur’s armpits and was dragging him onto the open sleeping bag.

“How can you even move around this much?” he slurred.

“Don’t worry, I’m at my limit.”

Now that Arthur was stationary again, he lazily watched Alfred sit and settle beside him on the blanket. For a while he remained seated, arms braced against his knees, staring out the back of the truck.

“Don’t tell me you’re an introspective drunk,” Arthur said, though he had some trouble with the word.

Arthur was expecting a quick-witted comeback, but was mildly surprised (yet greatly pleased) when Alfred wordlessly lay down beside him. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the sky. Arthur’s foggy brain started thinking; why Alfred decided to do this, why he was suddenly stoic and quiet, like he was before, what could possibly be going through his head. But the alcohol already beginning to pound in his head told him that deep conversation would not be successful tonight.

So Arthur flipped over onto his side and laid his head on Alfred’s shoulder. His arm snuck around Alfred’s waist and he hugged him closer like the little Paddington Bear he had as a child. In his last moments of consciousness, Arthur tilted his chin up and pressed a quick kiss to Alfred’s jaw. He wasn’t sure if he’d remember that he’d done it in the morning, but at the time it was irresistible.

Arthur snuggled back into his side and mumbled, “G’night.”

Right before he was taken under by sleep, he thought he could hear a whispered, “Goodnight.”

In the morning, Arthur knew two things. The first was that he woke to lazy fingers stroking through his hair, and his own nose pressed to a tanned throat that smelled woodsy, and tinged with liquor. The second, when he shifted and felt like he’d been hit by a bus, was that he hated Alfred with every fiber of his being.

 

 _Utah, Colorado_ \- Things sort of changed after their night of drunken revelry. There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the two of them, and frankly Arthur didn’t see the need to address it aloud. After their night of drinking, neither mentioned the kiss or the way they slept wrapped up in each other. Arthur sure remembered it though and he was positive that Alfred hadn’t forgotten either.

Utah went by in a blur. The most notable thing about it had been the way Alfred lounged across the seat of the cab almost the entire way, his head pillowed on Arthur’s thigh, and his feet up on the dashboard or resting on the ledge of the open window. He alternated napping and talking about mundane anecdotes with Arthur. Arthur himself spent the miles of dusty road absentmindedly combing his fingers through Alfred’s surprisingly silky hair with one hand, the other on the steering wheel.

They’d stop throughout the day for meals and snacks, and somehow they were still always touching. In restaurants and at rest-stop picnic tables, they sat across from each other, but with the sides of their feet pressed together. They stopped once more at a Laundromat and reminiscent of the day before – which felt like a year to Arthur – Alfred rested his sleepy head on Arthur’s shoulder. This time, Arthur didn’t hesitate resting his cheek on the top of Alfred’s head.

Colorado was when they were lifted from the daze of effortless coexistence.

They’d driven a ways in silence, Arthur’s silent companion gazing contentedly out the window. They’d ceased conversation an hour ago, an easy, comfortable silence taking over and the radio playing low in the quiet.

Arthur had a plan. It had come rather spur of the moment only hours before at a rest stop where he looked up the information he needed on his phone.

He drove a little further until he saw the large sign indicating the turn off. Alfred didn’t catch on yet, didn’t even glance at Arthur in curiosity when he took the exit. Arthur smiled to himself.

Into the dense woods, the road transitioned from asphalt to gravel. Alfred perked up and there was the curious look Arthur expected.

“Where are we going?” Alfred belatedly asked.

“Surprise.”

He yawned. “As long as there’s food.”

Arthur threw him a dry look. “We just ate lunch two hours ago.”

Alfred arched his back and flopped against the seat. “And I’m hungry again.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, as he seemed to be prone to doing in his presence, but the disdainful action was neutralized by the smile that twitched to his lips.

Finally, Alfred sat forward in his seat, eyes wide, when the billboard-sized sign naming the place came into view.

“An archery range?” Alfred asked. Arthur couldn’t name the look in his eyes. It was something between bewilderment and interest.

“Yeah.” Arthur shrugged. “I used to practice a little when I was younger. Have you tried it?”

“No I haven’t,” Alfred replied quietly. He didn’t say anything else. He remained speechless while Arthur parked in front of the building. He took Alfred inside and being around familiar equipment again pulled at the longing for this childhood activity. Arthur showed him around and explained what various gadgets and supplies were for. He saw genuine interest in Alfred as they discussed bows, arrows, targets, and various attachments and accessories.

Arthur felt joy stirring inside him. It had been a long time since he held a bow.

The clerk led them out the back of the shop to the long range. Thick trees bordered the stretch of grass where targets were set up at various distances. He then left them to it.

Alfred sat on a bench while Arthur geared up. He entered concentration mode and Alfred didn’t speak all the while. He vaguely took note of Alfred’s wondrous expression.

Arthur nocked the first arrow and took a deep breath. He came to a full draw; proper stance, lines of his arms straight, a furrow in his brows as he concentrated. Then his fingers released the bowstring and the arrow sailed fast and clean into a 50-meter target.

Only when the arrow imbedded itself just off-center of the target did Arthur lower the bow and take a deep breath.

“That was amazing,” Alfred breathed.

Arthur looked over, blinking the haze of concentration away. He had momentarily forgotten Alfred was there.

“Thanks,” he said low.

“You never mentioned it before, that you did archery,” Alfred started, rubbing his forearm, “Before we got out here, when you told me you used to practice… I guess it takes seeing it in person to really understand.”

Arthur smiled a little. “It’s been longer than I’d like to admit, but it is like riding a bike.”

“When was the last time?”

His gaze went soft, remembering those long-ago years. “Ten years ago.”

“Why did you stop?” he asked carefully.

Arthur brushed the fletching on an arrow, eyes downcast.

He sat beside Alfred with a sigh. Alfred waited.

“University. My father.” He looked up and out across the range. “I didn’t have time for it when I went to uni. I had pressure to succeed, to devote myself to my responsibilities. Insignificant extra-curriculars were out of the question.” Arthur laughed deprecatingly.

“Can I ask?” Alfred began hesitantly. “About your father?”

Arthur hummed, his brow creasing. Silently, Alfred took his hand where it rested on his thigh and laced their fingers, palm to palm. Arthur’s instinctively twitched tighter in his grasp and Alfred waited.

Finally he shook his head and said, “He was just a practical man, too practical. Cold, more often than not. I was but one of his five sons and none of us were to be the weak link. Mum was pretty passive,” Arthur smiled thoughtfully, “She never went against him outright.”

Arthur looked down at their hands, tan against pale. When Arthur lifted his gaze, he was met with sapphire blue.

Arthur’s smile grew, and he tugged Alfred up from the bench. “Come on, it’s your turn.”

“Me?” Alfred sputtered.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you get by without trying it?” he laughed.

“I’ve never pulled a bow in my life.”

“Great time to start. Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Oh, stop pouting.” Arthur pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle at Alfred being childish.

“Fine, but don’t blame me when you end up with an arrow in your eye.”

“You’re so melodramatic. It’s simple.” Arthur handed him the bow, showed him how to hold it, and then gave him an arrow. “Now nock it. Good. One finger above it, two fingers below. Make sure they won’t slip.”

Alfred let him ramble on his instructions, following orders to lift his elbow – not too high, not too low – and Arthur found the process of assisting him calming; Arthur’s hand touching the elbow on the arm that was drawn and the other hand loosely wrapped around his fingers gripping the handle.

Arthur was standing behind him, guiding his arms up and voice hushed in the rather intimate space between them, telling him to draw.

“Take a deep breath before you release.” Even though Arthur wasn’t touching him anymore, letting him focus on the shot, he still felt the remnants of his skin’s warmth. “Hold it. And… now.”

Arthur felt a thrilling shiver race up his spine when the arrow jetted into one of the outer rings of a 30-meter target, like he was feeling the exact sensations Alfred was.

With wide, still unblinking eyes Alfred looked at him.

Arthur grinned. “Nice job.”

Alfred swallowed and lowered the bow. “That was,” he licked his lips, “exciting.”

“It never really stops. Try another one.”

“You bought these. Have at it.” He tried to return the bow to him but Arthur shook his head firmly.

“I brought you here for you to try it.”

An unsure, endearing glint came to Alfred’s eyes and it made Arthur chuckle.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s a gift,” he said.

With an eagerness that betrayed his attempt to decline, Alfred prepped another arrow.

Alfred had been a little listless and it wasn’t that Arthur minded when he was less talkative, but it was nice to see his Alfred in the state of boyish wonder he’d become used to.

Arthur then flushed furiously and quickly took his seat when he caught himself thinking of Alfred as _his_.

 

For the rest of their time at the range, Alfred was happier, lighter, and his sense of competition had come out. Though Arthur didn’t know who he was competing against – there was no one else there.

They laughed and joked, returned the rentals and made their way back to the truck. With a hand on his arm, Alfred stopped him at the tailgate.

“Arthur.” Brightness, sincerity had returned to him in that moment. “Thank you,” he said.

Arthur smiled. He slowly flipped through the keys on his keychain, isolating the truck key. He took Alfred’s hand and placed the keys in it.

“You drive,” he said, watching Alfred’s eyes widen slightly. “I’m a bit knackered. Think I’ll nap.”

Arthur walked around him to the passenger side. Alfred remained still, staring at the keys in his hand. Then he clutched them and moved to the driver’s side.

Arthur settled himself, leaning against the window like Alfred had done. He said nothing while Alfred started the truck and began to drive. They said nothing for a while, even as the sun began to dip behind them as they drove east. Arthur fell asleep soon after they got back on the freeway.

He woke up to pitch-black night, headlights on the open road, and the dim light of the dashboard. He looked over to Alfred. His face was peaceful. The radio was a low murmur. Arthur couldn’t make out words.

“We just crossed into Kansas,” Alfred said softly.

Arthur rubbed his face. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About three hours.”

Arthur expected to nap for an hour tops. Perhaps he had been more tired than he thought.

“There’s a town coming up,” Alfred said. “We’ll stop there for the night.”

“I can switch with you,” Arthur replied, still groggy.

“Three hours of sleep isn’t sufficient enough, especially at night.”

Any other protests died on his tongue. He _was_ tired.

Alfred found a motel easy enough – it was one of the two in the town. The room could have been any motel room they’d rented thus far. Two double beds, bland carpet, bland walls, TV on top of the dresser, bland curtains. However, what made it different were Arthur’s thoughts bouncing around the room.

He thought of that day, the archery range; the feeling of holding a bow again, the way he helped Alfred shoot his first arrow. But what he found himself coming back to was their conversation. He replayed it in his head, thinking of the things he’d told him. About responsibilities and his own father. He hadn’t expected to divulge those kinds of things, hadn’t really thought about them himself. All the while Alfred listened like his words were more important than breathing. Arthur found himself wondering where the man laying in the bed across from him would be had he not come. Arthur had to admit it to himself; he couldn’t imagine taking this trip without him.

Bloody hell he was growing fonder and fonder for him.

Arthur idly watched him go through a routine of brushing his teeth, slipping out of his shoes and socks, lifting his shirt overhead. Finally he removed his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt, giving Arthur a full view of his profile and the rebel strands of hair that fell over his forehead. Had Alfred always had long eyelashes?

Arthur only flushed a little now, which he thought was an accomplishment given the person involved and the circumstances.

Alfred collapsed onto his back on his bed with a deep sigh, unaware of Arthur’s previous ogling. He lay there quietly for a while.

Arthur closed his eyes, and perhaps not two minutes had passed before he heard the other bed creak. The sound of feet across the two-foot wide separation between their beds. Alfred braced a knee on the mattress beside Arthur’s hip, a hand on each side of his shoulders.

Arthur’s eyes blinked open, looking up at Alfred’s face hovering over his.

“Arthur,” he said purposefully.

“Yes, Alfred?” he replied, calmly, coolly, despite the thudding beat of his heart.

“Thank you.”

Arthur regarded him a moment. “What are you thanking me for?”

Alfred swallowed. “For telling me what you told me today. It’s probably not worth all this… but I appreciate it.”

Arthur said nothing. Instead, his eyes roved over Alfred’s face, trying to think of something, anything to say in response.

He was about to, but then Alfred whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

Arthur almost hadn’t heard him. He blinked, then a wry smile spread across his face and he laughed. “Considering the fact that you’ve kissed me twice now without warning, I didn’t think you felt the need to ask anymore.”

Alfred’s cheeks flushed and he laughed at the truth of Arthur’s words. “Does that mean I have your permission, then?”

“Yes, you tosser,” Arthur answered, affection tingeing his hushed voice.

Alfred lifted an eyebrow at the name, but his gaze was already flickering from Arthur’s eyes to his lips. He brought a hand from his side and gently traced the line of Arthur’s jaw with feather-light strokes of his fingertips. His fingers trailed up his cheek to push back and thread through the choppy hair that spread over the pillow. Alfred’s hand radiated warmth and Arthur tilted his cheek into it. His eyes closed in contentment. He opened them when the pad of Alfred’s thumb brushed at the edge of his lower lip.

A finger curled under his chin was Alfred’s final silent request for permission. Arthur followed the pull of his fingers and without hesitation tilted his chin up until their lips were a breath apart. Arthur wanted Alfred to meet him, so he waited with faintly parted lips.

Alfred’s rare hesitancy seemed to have left him, because his hand slid around to tangle in the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck and he surged forward that slight amount to finally touch their lips together.

All at once, Arthur knew this one was different. The first had been quick and carefree. The second had been drunk and careless. This, their third kiss, filled everything Arthur yearned for. Firm pressure told him not to pull away yet, and he wouldn’t dream. At some point, Arthur’s hands came up to cradle the sides of his face, which only made Alfred press closer. And once he got that first small taste of him, when Alfred’s tongue danced across his upper lip, he dove in with an eagerness to finally taste what he’d wondered about since California.

It was better than he’d imagined. There was the mint from his toothpaste, but that soon fell away to the deep earthiness that was solely Alfred. He was attuned to every piece of him, and Arthur anchored a hand in his hair so he could touch the other to the side of Alfred’s neck. Hot skin beneath his fingertips lit a whole new flame and Alfred pushed further, increasing the pressure of his lips until hunger was the only word he could describe it with. His fingertips spread across Alfred’s collarbone, across his chest and down his abdomen where he felt muscles twitch. This was the first time Arthur was able to touch him, explore him in this way, and he was enjoying every minute.

Alfred’s hands were now curling at the hem of Arthur’s t-shirt and dragging it up and over his head, tousling his hair. Arthur took the momentary separation to look down at the rich skin his fingers were stroking over. Without thinking he pressed his lips to hollow between Alfred’s collarbones and secretly thrilled at the desirous hum that vibrated through his chest. A few times prior Arthur had been close enough to catch his earthy scent. Now he was fully enveloped in it.

He was taken by surprise when Alfred suddenly grabbed him and flipped him around until their positions were switched. The arm that had been supporting him falling weakly across his stomach, though not abandoned as Arthur’s hand found his and laced their fingers tightly. He himself supported his weight on his forearm and Arthur was acutely aware of the shrunken space between their bodies.

Though he was more entranced by the heady look in Alfred’s eyes, shadowed by wisps of golden blond. It was Arthur’s turn to weave his fingers through it and he was delighted by the response. It was like scratching a puppy behind the ears, or in this case a wolf; his eagerness from minutes before returned tenfold and Arthur was swept up in Alfred’s lips prying his open and leaving him breathless.

Arthur was panting when Alfred’s nose pressed to the place just below his ear, his heavy breaths hot against his skin.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you like that since we were on the beach,” Alfred breathed.

“I should have spilled my story sooner then,” Arthur replied, voice rough, managing to default to deadpan humor even in a moment like this.

Alfred turned his head until they were nose to nose. “If anything, waiting ‘til now gave me the courage.”

Arthur watched him, their breaths evening out. “And how do you feel now?”

Alfred smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Fantastic.”

He stole a number of sly, playful kisses more, chuckling when Alfred nipped him back in retaliation.

Alfred hooked his leg around Arthur’s and brought him down next to him. Arthur dropped onto the pillow and left their legs tangled together, Alfred’s fingers absently drawing designs on Arthur’s pale chest. Sleepiness was descending once again and he took full advantage of molding himself to Alfred, unabashedly curling his arm around his waist and keeping his warm body close.

Alfred’s rhythmic breathing lulled Arthur to sleep.

 

The next day, somewhere along the way, Alfred stopped at a supermarket and bought supplies. Upon returning to the truck, Arthur asked what he’d bought. Alfred refused to answer.

That night, following their euphoric breakthrough, Alfred stopped the truck in the middle of a wide-open, deserted field miles from St. Louis, far removed from the highway or any city limits.

Arthur remained skeptical, even as Alfred spread out the sleeping bag over the ground. He laughed and Arthur finally took the hint when Alfred latched onto him and kissed him deeply.

“Do you want to?” he murmured against Arthur’s lips. He nudged the plastic bag with his foot. Arthur glanced down at it, saw the shapes of a bottle and a box.

He could only laugh. “Only if you want to,” he replied, and a low growl spilled into Arthur’s mouth and made him shiver.

Alfred tackled him to the ground. Clothes were in various states of removal and flung to the ground and hands resumed where they’d left off the night before, and much more.

 

Time slowed and they spent a whole day in each state after that night.

 _Illinois_ – Arthur took to tracing patterns in the palm of Alfred’s hand. He did it most of the time without thinking; across the seat of the truck when they took turns driving, walking around whatever city they stopped at for food or gas, and in the middle of aisles in supermarkets.

In a Laundromat late at night, Arthur continued his idle tracing, never seeming to get enough of Alfred’s hands. Hands that manipulated metal, that had their fair share of tiny scars, that managed to draw a bow with strength and gently caress his skin.

Suddenly Alfred’s hand clenched into a fist and Arthur was alert again, looking up to find mild irritation drawn tight across his face. Out of the corner of his eyes, Arthur saw the only other person in the building sitting against the far wall. She was an old woman, and her shrewd eyes and pursed lips were directed straight toward them.

Arthur understood immediately and drew his hand away, but Alfred stopped him. Easy, and without missing a beat, he re-laced their fingers. Arthur held on and nothing needed to be said.

The second double bed sat superfluous and untouched in their room that night. Alfred felt the need for some sort of apology and after a cautious kiss, Arthur developed a concerned tilt to his brow.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said.

Alfred sighed. “I’m not.”

“Good. Now kiss me.”

Alfred obliged.

 

 _Indiana_ – The short amount of time they spent in the small stretch of southern Indiana was filled with private moments. They elected to stay out of the towns as much as possible, therefore most of their time was spent off the main roads, where only the cloudless blue sky above saw them and the clear night sky covered them while they slept.

 

 _Kentucky_ – In Kentucky, they argued. Their first spat, Arthur thought wryly, mildly surprised they hadn’t fought until that point. He couldn’t even say what it’d been about later. It seemed so petty after the fact.

In a moment of regrettable petulance, Arthur had stormed into the motel room knowing he had both room keys, effectively locking Alfred out. Right as the door slammed behind him, Alfred’s fist pounded once and Arthur could almost feel his vibrating anger through the door.

He had only been locked out for an hour, but it felt like a day. And Arthur felt horrible when he considered that their days were sorely numbered. So when Alfred came back, and Arthur heard a calm knocking, he rolled off the bed and answered.

He opened the door and they held each other’s gaze for a full minute before Arthur curled his fingers around Alfred’s and pulled him in.

Alfred touched his forehead to Arthur’s and breathed deeply. Arthur’s fingertips traced over his palm.

 

 _West Virginia_ – Realization was setting in. Cold, hard realization – a nauseous twist in Arthur’s stomach. They had stopped talking about anything to do with the future. Arthur could admit it might have been a childish way to handle the situation. What did he expect would happen once he and Alfred got involved? Hell, he should have known it from that night at the hidden spring in Oklahoma. That night where Alfred finally showed a side of himself that interested Arthur, that made him _want_ to keep him around. It seemed like months ago.

 _You’ve dug yourself a hole, Arthur_ , he thought to himself. But he couldn’t help that it happened. He couldn’t help seeing the first genuine smile and laugh from Alfred after he’d jumped from that rock and feeling his heart skip a beat. He couldn’t help that the more he got to know him the more he found him attractive. He knew he was doomed when Alfred kissed him in California.

“So what are you going to do now, Arthur?” he mumbled to himself in the truck cab. They’d parked in front of an old-style burger drive in. Alfred was getting them food. Arthur could see him speaking to the cashier, watched him lean nonchalantly on the wooden railing as he waited. Then he stepped forward, retrieved their paper bag and turned back to the truck.

“I got you the Bacon Pepperjack Deluxe. American obscenity at its finest,” he said. He also waved two shakes in his hands. “I also got shakes. Vanilla for you,” he said with a sly smile, “and chocolate for me.”

Arthur simply took his and sipped from the straw. He put it in the cup holder while Alfred began to attack his sandwich.

Alfred noticed him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied idly. “I’ll eat in a bit.”

Alfred shrugged. “Alright.”

Arthur resumed driving, telling himself he’d stop at the next rest stop to eat, and maybe formulate some words.

The sun was starting to set when they got to the next rest stop. It hadn’t taken long; his burger was still warm. But the more he thought of it, the less hungry he felt. Alfred had certainly wolfed his down, along with the shake, and now he was chewing on minty gum.

Arthur made the excuse of using the restroom and slid out of the truck. He did use it, but he didn’t return to the truck right away. Instead, he walked around the back to where the edge of the grass met the dimmer, wilder forest. He stood with his hands in his jean pockets and watched the dark get darker.

“I can tell you’re thinking too hard,” he heard Alfred say behind him.

“I’m fine,” Arthur mumbled.

A sigh, and then Alfred draped his arms around his shoulders from behind. His chin rested on the crook of his shoulder. “I can practically hear everything that’s blowing through your mind.”

“Can you?” he retorted with perhaps a little more venom than was necessary.

“Its nothing to worry about.” Alfred kept his voice level.

Arthur whirled around, his hands clenching into fists. Alfred’s dropped to his sides. “So what? You just expect me to say ‘Nice knowing you’ and hop on a plane? Thanks for the memories?”

Alfred’s eyes sharpened, unable to keep from outwardly challenging him. “Of course not, but I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yeah, well it doesn’t have to be now.”

“When, then?” Arthur’s voice was steadily rising. “When I’m all but driving into the Atlantic?”

“No.” Alfred’s own voice was risen and stern. “You seem to think you’re the only one who’s concerned.”

“Because I can really tell you are.”

Alfred’s upper lip twitched and he stepped forward, grabbing the front of Arthur’s shirt and crushing their lips together. It was the suddenness and the intensity that made Arthur react despite his anger. The first instinct he had was to push Alfred away – how dare he kiss him when he was angry with him. But even when he had his hands on his chest ready to do just that, something, perhaps his resolve, crumbled and his lips parted for Alfred. Instead of pushing, Arthur’s fingers curled into Alfred’s shirt.

Glad for the response, Alfred eased up a little. His lips were softer now, less aggressive. Arthur didn’t say anything when they parted, still wary. Their faces were inches apart.

“Don’t pull away from me now,” Alfred whispered. “Not yet.”

What little resolve Arthur had left shattered. His fingertips brushed gingerly across Alfred’s jaw, over his cheekbones and the sides of his face. It was in this feather-light grip that Arthur pulled his lips back to his. Haste and aggression gave way to slow and sweet. He knew he wasn’t doing any favors for his heart, but he didn’t care. Neither of them wanted it to end. Arthur figured he could spend a long time kissing Alfred, feeling him out. So he let himself for a few minutes more. The only sounds between them were soft breaths.

Arthur leaned away just enough for his lips to barely hover over Alfred’s. He licked the trace of mint from the inside of his lips.

“Not yet,” Arthur assured.

 

 _Virginia_ – “Would you visit?”

“What?”

Arthur scuffed his shoe in the gravel. “London. I’m not sure when but…”

The smallest smile crept onto Alfred’s face. “Arthur.”

“I mean, I’m not sure how long they’ll have me in Amsterdam-”

“Arthur.”

“But spring is lovely, if a little more rainy than you’re used to-”

Arthur was abruptly and efficiently stopped by an earnest press of lips on his. When Alfred pulled back, Arthur’s face still locked between his hands, he saw the smile blooming.

“Arthur, shut up.”

He blinked and swallowed.

“I would love to visit you on your turf.”

He thought his heart might skip a beat and let out the breath he only just realized he was holding. “That’s… wonderful.”

In all his giddiness, Alfred leaned back in and kissed Arthur. He was still grinning when they continued to stand in the circles of each other’s arms.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “It’s late. And I still have to get to D.C. by morning.” His flight was in fact tomorrow, and Arthur scrunched his nose. “We made it just in time, huh.”

“Yeah,” Alfred sighed.

But neither moved for a few minutes more. Reluctantly, Arthur withdrew his arms from around Alfred’s neck.

“Don’t worry,” Alfred said softly. “I’m in this, with you.”

A wistful look flitted across Arthur’s face. “I know. Me too.”

In a last attempt to stall, Arthur remembered the soccer ball in the back of the truck. He took it out and handed it to Alfred. “Keep it,” he said.

Alfred spun it in his hands and Arthur shuffled back to the truck door. Opened the door, hoisted himself onto the seat, was surprised when Alfred hooked his arm around Arthur’s neck and pulled him down into one last kiss. Arthur wasn’t sure yet when he’d next see him, so he made this kiss count. It seemed like Alfred had the same idea. One more chance for passion, for promise, for feeling Alfred’s hot skin under his fingers.

It left him breathing heavily but it was enough for the moment, it’d have to be enough. Though Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that in an hour it wouldn’t.

Alfred stepped back and picked up the ball and his duffel bag from the ground. Arthur watched him fade in the rearview mirror.

~

And Alfred watched him leave until the truck was out of sight. With his bag and the ball under his arm, he turned around with a heavy sigh. The bright neon yellow of the Denny’s sign welcomed him. He steeled himself, and trudged forward into the place he had known for years.

The place was practically empty, like always. Alfred could pick out the greasy cook reading off to the side. His gaze wandered for Matt and he saw him standing behind the bar. Talking. With Gilbert.

He would have whirled around and walked right out, content to walk home, but Matt and Gil suddenly heard him. The way Gilbert spun around with that shit-eating grin almost made him flinch.

“Oh, Al,” he sang, hopping off his stool to come behind him and physically push him over to the bar. “We’ve missed you so much, you know. The nights are boring here without you glaring into your coffee.”

Matt didn’t say anything, but he still had a knowing smile on his face.

Gil pushed him onto the barstool next to him and watched him gleefully with his chin in his hand.

“Stop staring at me like you know something,” he said, hoping the nervousness he felt had been masked.

Gil shrugged. “Oh, I know many things. I know how to take apart and rebuild a Harley, I know that your truck does off-roading extremely well…” the dangerous glint in his eyes kept him from interrupting about his truck. “And I know that you were _sucking_ the face off Eyebrows just a few minutes ago.”

All he could say in his defense was, “I was not _sucking_ his face.”

“Matt, you owe me fifty dollars.”

“What the hell? You had a bet?”

Gilbert unashamedly nodded. “You’re going to tell us that you hopped in a weirdly attractive stranger’s car for an impromptu road trip and didn’t end up making out with him by the end? Next I’m going to find out you had sex with him too.”

Alfred cursed his friend and his brother to hell, and especially cursed the heat that most certainly brought a flush to his cheeks.

“Oh my god.” Gilbert’s mouth dropped open. “Matt are you hearing this?”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t need to, Goldilocks.” The shit-eating grin returned and Alfred wanted to die in a hole in the ground.

Matt, always the mediator of the two, shot Gilbert a look and said gently to Alfred, “You really like him, don’t you?”

Alfred ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. He couldn’t help the small smile that pulled the corners of his lips up. Suddenly he was calmed, gaze growing soft as he thought of Arthur’s offer. Him. In London. He didn’t even think he’d make it out of Virginia, let alone the North America. He glanced up at the men in front of him. Matt was gentle, rational in his emotions, but he knew how and when to crack the whip on him as his brother. Gilbert was loud and spirited, but he never made light of his problems, even if he teased him a bit first. He sighed and said finally, “Yeah, I do.”

 

 

_Heathrow_

 

            Arthur waited at arrivals, admittedly anxious. People began pouring out of the gate at all different speeds looking tired, bored, or searching for others.

            Arthur tried not to look as anxious as he felt. They’d been talking since he left the states – they talked right up until Alfred boarded his flight. Late night calls because he would wait up for Alfred after he finished work in the shop for the day. Video calls when Alfred was coming home from a long night in the shop and Arthur talked with him until he fell asleep with the morning light warming the side of his face.

            A year had passed. It was August and Alfred had blazed through his client roster. Arthur was bummed that he still hadn’t seen Alfred’s creations, but Alfred reassured him that they were just a bunch of simple tweaks and generic designs anyway, and that he’d make something special for him. He wouldn’t tell him what kind exactly, but the thought that he’d make something for Arthur warmed him.

            He was almost too caught up in his thoughts and he suddenly saw that flash of golden blond hair. As he grew clearer and clearer through the crowd, trademark bomber jacket and thick-framed glasses, the grin grew on his face. Alfred looked much the same, but it was what Arthur loved.

            Finally, Alfred was standing in front of him. His fingers itched for him.

            “Welcome to England,” he said.

            “You know, I’ve never been to England.”

            Arthur could laugh. “And now you’re here.”

            Alfred grinned. “I am. We are.”

            Arthur threw his arms around Alfred’s shoulders and pulled him close. He breathed in his scent – lightly earthy, sunny sweet. He’d missed it.

            “I brought you something,” Alfred said.

            Arthur pulled back and watched him take the soccer ball out from his carry-on duffel. His brows rose.

            He gave it to Arthur and upon examining it, he found that words were written in the hexagons. _California, Virginia, Nevada…_ All the states they’d travelled through. Alfred took a marker out of his bag next and quickly wrote inside another hexagon, “London”.

            “I figure we should keep this,” he nodded toward the ball.

            “Tell me, Alfred,” Arthur said, turning the ball in his hands. “What do you want to do now?”

            Alfred shrugged. “I don’t know.”

            “Well, it’d be a shame to leave your passport so empty.” Arthur grinned at the knowing twinkle in Alfred’s eye. “What do you say about round two? European edition.”

            Alfred’s answer was an enthusiastic sweep of his hand at the back of Arthur’s neck and his warm lips on his. Christ, did Arthur miss kissing him.

            Alfred brought their foreheads together and laughed. “Well what are you waiting for? You’ve got a continent to show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd forgotten how long this story was T_T I'm such a sap I wipe myself out.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Find me on tumblr: le-petit-fromage


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